


Dragon Eyes

by janazza



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Blind Character, Blind Zuko (Avatar), But like Toph blind, Everyone adopts awkward turtleduck Zuko, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, Runaway, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, Zuko and Toph are bros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25575961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janazza/pseuds/janazza
Summary: Zuko is left blind after a kidnapping attempt gone wrong as a child. However, in an effort to save him from Ozai’s disappointment, Iroh brings him to the only remaining dragons to heal him. Instead, they teach him to see differently.It’s just a shame his father still sucks.
Comments: 26
Kudos: 600





	Dragon Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not blind. This is not meant to be insensitive to people who are blind or visual impaired. Please let me know if anything written is offensive and should be removed. This story will start off with Zuko’s struggle to come to terms with his differences, comparing himself to Azula, but in time he will grow to accept it. Of course, this is still fantasy and things will be stretched. Toph is more or less the example I am following for how to write Zuko’s way of “seeing.” Again, let me know if there are any issues. 
> 
> Partially inspired by “beacon in the dark” by NohaIjiachi (My Hero Academia). If you like MHA, I highly recommend it!

It’d been days later when the healer removed the bandages of Ursa’s five-year-old, who had cried during the never ending night for him as the darkness became his whole world that she feared for his life all the more. She’d held him through it all as her husband had the bandits and nursemaid, a new hire with coal colored eyes but a flick of blue under the fire light showed her her mixed heritage, publicly executed. 

When Zuko was born, he had the most pure of gold eyes she’d ever seen, and her husband thought similarly, excited at the prospect of his one day firebending prowess.

When the bandages were removed, his eyes showed a pale yellow, one that could barely see her.

After multiple sessions with specialists and many days of rest, they saw no change. 

“He still has light perception, but he will need assistance from now on.”

“Until he heals,” Ursa tagged on, and the specialist nodded quickly in fear of upsetting the princess. 

His brother grew impatient, and Iroh knew it would only be a matter of time. He returned only days after the accident to relax after his victory pushing back a raid attempt by the Southern Water Tribe. He was only meant to be around for a short time, but Ursa wept terribly and Ozai’s scowl soured further.

And a late night taught him exactly what Ozai and his own father would do with a useless heir. 

So he begged Ursa, “Let me take him to a healer, someone I trust.”

And the princess had held his cheek and told him, the same knowledge caught from whispers and hushed conversations of something Ursa could not stop, “Anything. Please, save my son.” 

* * *

His sister turned three just days after it happened, when a nursemaid held his hand and led him to a cart near the stables to play hide-in-seek. 

“Your mother will never find you here!” She’d smiled kindly, ruffled his hair, and closed the cart’s doors to hide him. He’d grown excited at the notion he would win their game with sparks fluttering in his hands. It was something that started recently, and Father patted his head and told him soon he would make a flame. He remembered growing nervous when men spoke quietly outside of his hiding place and how the cart he hid in suddenly lurched. He didn’t want to play anymore, but the cart’s doors wouldn’t open, and crying and screaming did nothing. 

He remembered smelling smoke, like when the groundskeeper would plop something rolled in his mouth, or when his uncle lazed with a pipe in the back gardens. 

But it was worse, because there was no place for the smoke to escape. And the embers that smoldered from the little sparks he produced from his palms charred the wooden cart’s innards. And when he cried harder, the flames grew, licking at his clothes and it became harder to breathe.

Zuko remembered little from that day, only what his Uncle told him later on in life, but the kidnappers didn’t make it far, had barely left the palace’s final gates when the cart engulfed into flames. 

And when the cart collapsed on itself as guards killed or restrained the bandits that had managed to sneak into the palace in the first place, a little boy crawled out, Those that knew the heir to the throne’s wales from many scratches and bruises by his own clumsiness recognized him instantly, even as the boy’s skin pinched pink and bloody in others. But none would unsee the scalding red stretched from the boy’s eyes.

Zuku remembered little from that day, but he did remember the pain of the cart’s support beam splitting and falling directly at his open, scared eyes. 

* * *

The Dragon of the West had a secret. His name came from a lie.

It took days with a little boy annoyed in the bundle of energy that is a five year old often has, leading to falls and scrapes in the rough terrain the further they travelled. Iroh declined any large ship needing a crew and found something inspired by the Water Tribe, still with a mast and sails meant for decoration really, but possible to manage between two people.

“Thank you for coming.”

“For you, Iroh,” said someone, “anything.” 

The little four year old wanted to walk on his own, but as the terrain turned from smooth laid concrete of the fire nation to the island just North and isolated with dirt paths and mountainous climbs, he soon found refuge in his Uncle, quickly falling asleep on his shoulder. This would have to do.

There was no warm greeting from the Sun Warriors, not when they saw the exhausted bundle held in his arms, tired from annoyance and fear and long days at sea. He knew they could see how the majority of burns from the accident had faded into barely visible pink except the one across his eyes and bridge of his nose, uneven and bleeding into his cheeks. 

They took him to Iroh’s greatest secret, the last of the dragons, to present the child before them. And they, magnificent in size and length, with maws that could crush an adult just as much as his little nephew, cooed at the sleeping child. 

And Iroh beseeched, kneeling before a boy looking so much like his Lu Ten. “They’ll kill him if he cannot see. Please, can you heal him?”

The dragons of old had grown to cherish the man who spared them and bore their secret. But the red dragon cocked its head curiously at the sleeping child’s pinched skin around his eyes and what lied beneath. 

_My dear, Iroh,_ one said, gently despite its size. _We cannot heal, not in such a way you so desire._

And the other, as grand and beautiful as it is monstrous, said, _but we can give him something as ancient as the lion turtles to sooth your fear._

Zuko’s childhood had become a fog, spending much of it sick, and little did he remember of his trip with Uncle, but he remembered waking to heat and an irritating glow. 

And when he opened his eyes, the swirl of flames surrounding him were a rainbow of color, dazzling and incredible akin to fireworks encompassing him like his mother’s shawl. He thought for a moment he could see again. When they dispersed, what was left couldn’t be explained and brought a pounding to his head. The lights and shadows had their own glows in places. Large pillars shown brightly, and he realized they pulsed with warmth, like they were alive. But everything was coated in fuzziness, the centers of the pillars like bonfires. Uncle Iroh called his name and when he turned to him, he saw him, he saw his uncle, but not as before with wrinkles at the corner of his eyes or greying beard nor the color of his uniform, but—

He could see the body heat radiating off of him, see the heat of his breath when he exhaled, feel in a way that isn’t through touch how it seeped past his tunic, and the beating sun warmed the earth he laid on. Fuzzy. Less fuzzy in others. But—

It was too much, all too much, an abundance of data and foreign sensations suddenly assaulting him, and he squeezed his eyes shut, but he could still feel it, like spotlights directed at him at all angles and burning scrambling his mind. 

His Uncle returned him to Caldera with hope. 

And Zuko slept with thoughts unlike his own that left him dizzy, thoughts he would forget from his exhausted, assaulted, young mind. 

_Child of Agni, we bestow to you the knowledge of the land’s flows of vitality, a cognition to the stream of life._

_You will be the teacher of the lion turtle’s favored._

* * *

He struggled.

Blinded by the feeling of glow and lights and heats and chills far beyond his hands’ reach, he snuffed it as much as he could, ignored it. It was loud like a constantly banging drum, maybe on a gong on its worse days, and he took refuge in his room, hidden under the covers that registered as warm but the rest mostly quiet. No candles, no disturbances except to eat and his mother’s coercing. 

The world was so big and him so small.

And he chose shadow over the intensity of the glow.

He held this sense as close to himself, feeling as little as possible just for a chance of peace. 

* * *

Azula probably gave him that weird look when he tried to explain it. Just shy of turning nine, he listened to her prowess as a fighter and certainly one day a general. Their masters always spoke well of her, reminding him how quickly she excelled him in every aspect and the work he needed to put in to catch up to what was essentially a turtle duck chasing a lion hare. 

“It’s fuzzy and loud, like I can see the air.” These days he kept the bubble of sight as small as possible, the rest dark and blissfully silent. It meant he sometimes bumped into tables or didn’t notice the stairs, but other times he could at least _think._ “But fire stands out, and people, too.” He remembered how odd it was to get out of bed and see the heated print of where he had laid during the night. 

“That sounds weird. Did Uncle poison you?”

He scoffed, “No.”

* * *

His sword master once asked him about the glow while practicing different attack techniques. Considering how he had never brought up his sight to any of his masters, he could only assume the man had listened to the whispers among the gossiping nursemaids. 

_“The boy sees fire.”_ Those that observed the blind prince noticed his sudden attention to fire, soundless as it can be. It was one thing that even with his sight held so close to him it bled through. Lining the training grounds were hanging lanterns. 

Piandao was handpicked by Uncle, a non-firebender skilled in up close weapons. It was one of Zuko’s worst lessons and one he had no idea why was put into his schedule. Who thought that putting a sharp weapon in a blind boy’s hands would be a good idea? But Father allowed it without ever looking up from his reports, not that he could deny the crown prince. 

“That’s not what you’re supposed to teach me.”

“True, but the first lesson in the sword 's most basic lesson is learning to use what is at your disposal. How does it work?”

“I don’t use it.” _I don’t listen to it,_ he thought _._

At their next lesson, Piandao didn’t carry his sword, only a candle and box of matches. “Unless you want to light the candle.”

Zuko scoffed and bristled, but sat across, letting his sight reach just enough to flick his fingers and light it on the first try. It’d been set off to the right of him instead of in front as most people trying to hand him things did. 

Paindao said nothing of it. “As a non-bender, I make up my differences by excelling in other areas.” 

“How so?”

“You fidget.” Zuko froze. He hadn’t even realized he’d been pinching the hem of his tunic between his forefinger and thumb. “It tells me if we were to start fighting, you would likely attack first. Or that you’re bored and planning to tune me out.” There was a smile to his voice. “Now, tell me something about me.”

He thought for a moment. “You are a master.”

“That’s what other people say about me. What can _you_ say about me?”

That Piandao was stubborn, he thought, that this exercise was stupid and didn’t realize it. His voice— “You’re old,” he said. 

The man snorted. “I guess I am getting up in years.”

“You’re taller than me.” 

“How much you think?” 

He understood what Piandao meant when he asked. 

He didn’t like reaching out. It left him dizzy and sick with a sense of overwhelm that left him disoriented. In the early days, before he mapped the palace or accepted he would need to ask for help, Zuko would grow so lost and lash out at the first nursemaid to find him. But Uncle had become a rock, someone to rely on that didn’t hover as much as Mom and only offered an arm to guide him around if wanted, one that couldn’t always be there. General Iroh had battles to win and rebellions to smush and a son of his own to check on. Lu ten already commanded his own brigade, having shown his prowess while Zuko struggled to memorize lesson plans. 

“How about something different? Can you tell what state I’m in?”

He’d fallen behind in training, his studies, and Zuko didn’t need working to know grandfather’s begrudging glare the last time he’d stood before him with his mother’s hand hovering in case he tripped on his own two feet to know everyone thought him pathetic. He wasn’t a helpless bird. He survived was what Mom always said but never acted like it. He would keep surviving. But his sister at only seven moved on to the next set of firebending training, passing Zuko, whose instructors would shout every time he lost balance or started to point in the wrong direction.

But this one noticed his growing stress and breathed deeply, rhythmic and slow. “When you’re ready.”

He hardly expanded his “sight,” not with anyone besides Uncle, but Piandao had done what Iroh had tried dozens of times over when the sight first started. In those days, he’d bickered and refused, stomping off and ruining the little time he gets with the old man. He hadn’t seen Iroh in months with a new sword teacher taking his place. 

In this state it was like he was there, bargaining him with tea that Zuko didn’t even like. 

He breathed with Piandao, letting the sight expand just enough to bubble around the pair, a sensation like stretching his hand out to a heated stove waiting for it to become too much. It didn’t, not at this length.

And he felt the body heat slithering off the man’s form, light and easily escaping. It made sense, considering how the man made so little noise moving about. 

“You’re not wearing any armor.”

“Good,” Piandao praised. “You know there are no obstructions between your blade and flesh, except my own skill.”

No. Something cool sat at the man’s hip.

Zuko recognized the shape and said, “You have a dagger on you.” 

“Correct.” He pulled it from inside his robe and placed it between them. “It’s something that was passed down to me, a gift for talent and mind. It also happens,” the master said, pulling something off its hilt, something not as cool so maybe wood, “to hold my lotus tile.”

Oh Agni. Zuko groaned out, “That explains everything.”

There was a smile in the man’s voice like holding back laughter. “Your uncle still wins every time.” 

He held out the tile and Zuko took it. 

“You knew where my hand was and to grab the offered tile. Is it because we’re sitting so close?”

A little information couldn’t hurt. Uncle trusted him. “No. I can stretch out how much I want to see.”

Piandao leaned forward curiously. “And what is it exactly that you see?”

Zuko hesitated, then said, “heat.”

The master thought for a moment then stood up. “For the next few days we will test your ability. Return after your political studies are done for today.”

* * *

The boy returned confused, unsure of what Piandao planned considering one of the palace guards groaning they couldn’t find their favorite mugs and maids complaining that flower vases went missing.

“Ah, just in time.” Piandao was at the training grounds’ edge, holding Zuko back. “Careful, don’t want to step on anything just yet. Why don’t you look around a bit.”

“I can’t see.”

“You know what I mean.”

He did, completely baffled at what was just as his feet and stretching his sight further revealed Piandao’s lesson to span across the entire grounds. “Are those…?”

“Cups of tea? No, just water. Your uncle would have my head for wasting so much.” He set down the last of them, just one of seemingly hundreds scattered across the training ground. It made him dizzy. “Although, some of these are indeed his tea sets, so it will require some concentration on your part.” He stood back to admire his handiwork, a galore of cups and pitchers and pails of water, some heated and others chilled. Some were so large to either be wash tubs or baths. To Zuko, it’s a minefield. 

“Your goal is to not break or tip over a single cup walking across the training grounds. Once I see your progress, I will add in more of a challenge.”

Iron hired a nut job. That’s the only explanation. He told him just that and the old man laughed at him. 

“Prove this is above you if you find it so silly.”

“Fine.” He would. He expanded the sight in a way that almost made him sick. Trying to feel the entire grounds hurt and Piandao noticed. 

“Start with what’s in front of you and work your way through,” he said simply. The man stood off to the side, hands clasped behind his back in wait. 

Zuko looked out. Just a piece of pie rather than the whole thing. His sight wasn’t perfect, obviously. Blind, but uniquely able to see shapes in a sense that no one else saw. But it meant things too close in the same temperature blended together. It was still fuzzy. He hadn’t really considering trying to refine his sight, to see the shapes or differentiate. 

There were obvious gaps before him possible to stand it, and he moved their first. He brought his feet higher than likely necessary, but the steam coming off of some of the cups made it hard to know their true size. Other spots were smaller, and he heard the soft clatter of his heel catch the rim of a ceramic mug. It didn’t break. 

“Continue,” said Piandao. “Concentrate.”

“I am!” He didn’t want to move. But—, he took a seat and picked up the most noticeable cup, glass and piping hot still. No, there was a difference between where the water started and the steam did. Next he chose one extremely chilled and how there seemed to be no glow to it compared to the afternoon air. Instead glow tried to seep into it. Even those when he dipped his finger in them felt like room temperature were just slightly different, their surfaces warmer being exposed to the waning sun. He set them down and looked out, looking for spaces with zero difference to the stone outside of the minefield. He took another step. Good. Another. And another through the maze. He reached the bathtub and stuck his hand in it. Cool, and colder the further he reached down. 

He started when Piandao praised, “Excellent work, Zuko.” The boy finished shortly, and the master joined him. “We will continue tomorrow morning. Oh, and do tell any grumbling servants they can have their dishware back at the end of the week.” 

* * *

Day two included a bokken, one with a hollow metal pipe in its center to make it easier to see. Piandao made him practice lifting half filled pitchers without breaking or spilling. Trying to aim a makeshift sword beyond his hand between the handle was difficult and required precision. Another was finding what Piandao called the “needle in a haystack,” which more or less meant finding the few cups that had no water in them. The only one he missed was the giant bathtub and had Zuko bristling for the master’s laughter.

It never came. Piandao simply explained, “It’s easy to forget the bigger things the more you narrow your focus. That is why we will focus on finding a center for you, a place balanced between when you don't have a need for such focus or such broadness.”

It grew boring in time. Regular practice in the beginning studying blocks and different swings then sight training. But he became something that was never synonymous with the prince: confident. It’s why a maid paused amazed to have Zuko wave at her from the other side of the gardens, or when he greeted Azula’s friends before they even spoke to him. 

Ty Lee became excited while Mai’s cheeks blushed warmly. 

That didn’t stop him from embarrassing himself, because when the apple on Mai’s head caught fire, trying to knock it off just sent the two of them careening in the pond. The flush of panic that he might drown sufficed only when he realized the pond was only a few feet deep where they fell. 

He went to Paindao’s training soaking wet. “Don’t ask.” 

“Whatever you say. Here.” He offered Zuko his bokken. “In the center today is a single pillar. You’ll notice at its top is a single candle. Light it.” 

Easy. Zuko stepped towards the field of anything-that-can-hold-water and headed for the single pillar, which must be a wide log set vertically. With the day so warm, the candle’s wax would become soft. He took notice of the new arrangement of the minefield. Gaps occurred more often with few vases and pitchers. Seemed like Piandao finally gave someone their bathtub back. 

He’d almost reached the pillar when—

A bokken stomped where he next planned to step, and he realized how Piandao only stood just at his side lost in his task. 

“On the field, there is more than just you and your destination.” His teacher stepped between him and the center pillar, easily sweeping past the dozens of cups and bowls. He stood before him, his weapon held ready at Zuko. “Let’s see if you can get past me.” 

Zuko followed suit, taking a wide stance. He stepped to the left, and Paindao’s bokken followed. So this is how it’s going to be. Zuko came down with a slash that the master blocked easily and Piandao retaliated, lunging forward. The boy stepped back out of reach, barely missing a ceramic bowl. 

He ran left, and Piandao only shifted to guard the pillar like a goalie. He came in low this time, bringing the bokken forward haphazardly. 

“Remember, prince Zuko,” he said as his bokken easily held against the nine year old’s attack. “Combine all of your training so far.” When the man made a swipe at him, Zuko jumped to the side, moving into a forward roll—

Wait, no, dammit —  
he managed to complete an awkward one handed round off and plant his feet just an inch from taking out something that cluttered like porcelain, the shake of his own impact disturbing them. He jumped back from the next jab by Piandao, then the next, meeting his blade to try to push him back. That's when he noticed Piandao's heart picking up, warming him like the man had slightly panicked. 

Porcelain, floral engravings and no legs like the other royal teapots. He knew that teapot. He led Piandao further from it until ducking from his attack and booking it. Piandao followed ready to strike at Zuko’s back except—

The flower pot flew high in the air and Piandao’s heart seized, stepping back to catch it before the crown prince could demand for his head. Lid and all, he caught it easy, and by the time he looked up, Zuko stood beside the pillar and lit its candle. 

Zuko’s heart thrummed wildly when Piandao didn’t instantly speak, instead stepping towards him. When a hand landed on his shoulder, it squeezed gently. “Great job today. Go wash up.”

The boy walked lighter than he ever had inside the palace walls. 

* * *

At eleven years old, Zuko’s world turned upside down.

While Zuko focused on swords and learning to see, especially how to create study materials without vision, Azula excelled in firebending beyond anyone’s belief. She was a house fire next to his candle and it was the day of his birthday that she proved herself unreachable. 

Their father hardly sat in for training, but today was different, because their firebender teacher declared her craft to be beyond anything teachable.

And Zuko didn’t understand why her flames were white hot, so intense it grew hardly registrable for him and his eyes or the senses he held. That is, until his mother beside him whispered startled, “Blue.”

And their firebending teacher agreed. “The intensity of heat output she produces results in the hue. An incredible feat for any firebending master, let alone someone so young.”

And he could feel the ripples of heat from his mother’s shaking hands. 

Because Zuko understood at this point he would always struggle to be taken seriously. What he didn’t expect was his mother stepping into his room late into the night and for it to be the last time he would ever hear her voice. He barely registered any of her words or how she’d grown so warm wrapped in clothes meant for the evening chill. But that was silly, because it was the middle of the night, and she should go back to bed. He did. 

And once again Zuko was abruptly awakened to someone barging into his room, just this time that person rifling through Zuko’s dresser. 

“Prince Zuko, you must hurry and get dressed.”

“Uncle?” He shouldn’t be back yet. Lu Ten’s funeral would be tomorrow across Caldera. 

A soft shirt hit his face as uncle continued pulling things into a decently sized bag. “We must leave, now. Quickly.”

He barely finished pulling on his shirt when a hand gripped his elbow and forced him towards the door, the boy still barefoot and rushing through the palace halls. “What’s going on?”

“Your grandfather passed away during the night.”

He faltered, but his uncle kept him walking upright. “Grandfather? Where’s Mom?”

“Not here, my prince. We must go before we are noticed.”

“Uncle—”

“Trust me, Zuko.”

“A maid is coming from the right hall,” he said, feeling her body temperature and the chill of the cold tea she carried. How strange.

Uncle dragged him down a different path and soon they walked out of the palace gardens and past the turtle duck pond, a few taking notice of the prince and quacked at him for snacks.

They didn’t stop until coming across an ostrich horse, a harness strapping it to a simple caravan, and Iroh did not hesitate to chuck the heaping bag of Zuko’s things into the back and nudge the prince in as well. “Stay silent. This’ll be over soon.”

And for a moment he wondered horribly if it was happening again. But this time he had Uncle, and Uncle never hurt him, never shouted after seeing how Zuko flinched and hid his face from a threat he couldn’t see. He wasn’t that helpless anymore either. Uncle got in the back with him and held him like he was just a toddler again as the caravan lurched forward. Uncle hushed him as they moved, someone sitting up front and guiding the ostrich horse. He was fine. It would be okay. He wasn’t alone. 

The palace guards waved at the driver as he passed without stopping them. They didn’t move, not when the caravan went of bumps and torn road, or when they came to stops at bustling streets. 

“Is this because of grandfather?” Zuko whispered. 

Uncle Iroh held him tighter and slowly, “It is best not to think about it. Only when they reached port, with many glows of people brining ships and out of a sea so vast and cool Zuko feared it would swallow him, did the driver bang his fist against the caravan wall in a particular pattern. Iroh let go of him then. “Grab your things, Zuko.” 

“Uncle?”

The man ignored him to hoist a simple cloak around the boy’s shoulders and another around himself. He dragged the hood over the boy’s head and tucked the prince’s hair back. The fabric itched. The driver came to stand next to them at the caravan’s entrance. “The ship is ready.”

Zuko’s heart stuttered confusedly. “Master Piandao?”

“My prince.” Piandao looked to Iroh and he knew the two were sharing a look and it pissed him off. 

“What’s going on? What aren’t you telling me?”

Iroh picked up a bag of his own and another to give to Piandao. “We’re leaving for the Earth Kingdom.”

Earth Kingdom? “But why?” 

People were looking at them, and Iroh and Piandao pulled their own hoods up. “For your safety, prince Zuko.” 

“From what?!”

His uncle kneeled before him, eye level and desperately quiet. “If we don’t leave now, I’m going to lose you, too.” He brushed the boy’s eventual dripping tears. “I need you to listen to me until it’s safe. Can you do that for me?” 

The boy nodded vigorously, so lost and unready for what was happening. Where were Mom and Azula? Father would be announcing Grandfather’s death to the public soon, probably at noon, and he would miss it. The event would overshadow cousin Lu Ten’s funeral. Iroh would miss it, too. 

He followed them to the small ship guarded by a few soldiers. They silently saluted his uncle before slowly walking off. Piandao ushered them onto the ship, the boy following with shaking legs until the sails picked up the wind. They were at sea in minutes, Iroh at the wheel and his nephew at his feet feeling like he would throw up. He held his sight close, the depths of the ocean leaving him sick to imagine as the boat swayed from the waves. 

He wondered how long it would be until he could go back home.

**Author's Note:**

> As Ozai usurps the thrown, Zuko and Iroh run away two years earlier than canon.
> 
> Again, let me know if there are any concerns.
> 
>   
> Check out my other fic “[In Which a Dragon finds Acceptance Among Enemies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25319125/chapters/61386853).”


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